


Magic and Science

by buffchester



Series: Magic and Science [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, F/M, Gen, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Potterlock, Sherlock Is A Wizard, canonish, eventual Sherlolly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffchester/pseuds/buffchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Death Eater Moriarty promises Sherlock a fall, Sherlock must disappear in order to save his friends. But when he finds out that Molly is being watched by Death Eaters, he has to bring her along. Begins Reichenbach Fall, goes into Order of the Phoenix. Eventual Sherlolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Do You Need?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This story literally came to me in a dream, and I woke up needing to write it. It's still in progress, so I'll try to update at least once a week. Also, this is my first fic, so please be gentle.

 

“You’re wrong, you know.”

Molly stopped dead in her path from her office to the door. She whirled around and sitting in the dark was Sherlock Holmes.

“You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.”

Molly watched him carefully. He looked sad. 

He turned to look at her, adding “But you  _were_  right. I’m not okay.”

Molly swallowed before replying. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I think I’m going to die.” He said this slowly and simply, watching her.

_Oh_. Not quite what she expected. She paused as she processed this information, but there was only one question she needed to ask him.

“What do you need?”

“If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?”

_Of course._  Molly would do whatever he asked of her, she always would. She always  _had_ , though she wasn’t sure that smuggling toes and running lab tests for him would be in quite the same category as what he had in mind.

“What do you need?” she asked again.

“You.” He took a step toward her, and she stopped breathing.

“But first—there are a few things you need to know about. I haven’t always been completely honest with you.” Sherlock surveyed the nearly empty morgue carefully before striding quickly to the door. He took out a long, thin piece of wood, and tapped the door. Molly felt a shift in the room, but couldn’t see what he had done.

“There, I’ve made the door imperturbable. No one can listen in, now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he looked back over at her, walking back toward her.

“Wha—what do you mean? Is that some kind of bug override device? Has the morgue been bugged?” She looked around the room as if she would be able to see listening devices all around her. She suddenly had a million questions milling about her mind. How long had Moriarty been listening? Did she ever say anything that would allow him to hurt Sherlock?

“Molly, you should sit down. You look a little peaked.” The color had drained from her face, and she knew she probably looked a little sick. She did as he suggested, going to a stool at the end of one of the tables. 

“Sherlock, has Jim been listening?” she asked, a little louder.

“No, Molly, it’s nothing like that. Well, yes, probably. But that isn’t the point.” Now she was definitely worried. He wore a serious face, his eyes boring into hers.

“Sherlock, what is it?” 

He paused a moment longer, and then opened his mouth to speak. “Molly, what I’m about to tell you is going to change the way you see the world, the way you see me. Things aren’t exactly the way you think they are. The way most of the world thinks they are.” He paused, keeping eye contact with her. He had to make sure she was paying attention. “I’m a wizard.” 

She narrowed her eyes once more before replying. “You’re good, but that seems a silly way to put it, especially for you. And is this really the time to be bragging?” She was getting a little annoyed. All of this talk, this cloak and dagger nonsense, and he wasn’t even taking things seriously.

“No, Molly. I mean it. I am a wizard. There’s a whole world out there that you don’t even know about. There’s magic, Molly. Here, let me show you.” He took out the slender piece of wood again, held it aloft, and conjured a small bluebell flame on the surface of the table. 

Molly immediately jumped up and stared from the small fire to Sherlock, her eyes wide. “Sherlock! You set my table on fire!”

He watched as the flames danced, not touching anything on the surface. He calmly looked from the blue flames to Molly, prompting her to look at it again. She moved closer to the flame, feeling the heat it emitted. 

“How?”

Sherlock looked up at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Magic.”

“It’s not possible,” she whispered. She looked up at Sherlock. “I mean, magic isn’t real. You’re a scientist, you know magic isn’t possible.”

Sherlock chuckled softly. “I may be a scientist, but I know very well that magic is possible. Magic and science have lived side by side since the beginning of time. It’s in my blood, you know.” Molly was still staring at him as if he had grown another head. He flicked his wand toward the flame again and it disappeared, leaving no trace. 

“It’s a trick. It has to be. You’ve set it up. Why? Why would you go to the trouble?”

“Molly, there’s no time. You know me well enough that my setting up an elaborate practical joke to make you believe I can do magic is not within the realm of probability. What do I have to do to make you believe me?” He nearly shouted in exasperation. For someone so intelligent she could be ridiculously bullheaded.

She matched his frustration, throwing up her hands and replying “I dunno, pull a rabbit out of a hat!”

“A rabbit out of a hat?! Molly, I—” This time he was shouting. Before he could say anything else, he paused, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. Shouting would not make her believe any faster. “Molly. Come here.” She walked around the table to where he was standing. Sherlock motioned to another stool that was next to the table. She sat and he turned to face her. She wore a skeptical expression on her face, as she crossed her arms atop the stool.

With no fanfare, Sherlock began to transform. A few moments, and in his place was a long and lanky black cat with ice blue eyes. Molly gasped, but couldn’t understand how this could be. What more of this other world he mentioned remained hidden from her eyes? The now feline Sherlock padded over to the stool where Molly sat and jumped in her lap.

Molly smiled and rubbed his head. “Well, I quite like you as a cat. You’re much more polite.” He turned and gave her a glare, and indignant mrrow sounding from deep in his throat. Molly laughed. Yes, there were still a few similarities. “And you’re so cute!” He seemed to roll his eyes at that statement ( _Can cats roll their eyes?_  Molly wondered) and leapt down from her lap, transforming back into his human form.

“Well?”

Molly was processing the newfound knowledge she had gained. She opened her mouth to speak a couple of times before sound actually came out. 

“So, magic is real…”

“Yes.”

“And you do magic…”

“Obviously.”

“In fact, you’re a wizard…”

“That has been established.”

“Wow.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, magic is magical, isn’t it  _darling_  that fairies exist, and oh, can I ride a unicorn? Molly, there will be time to marvel at the world of magic later. I have to die, and I need your help.”

“What does Moriarty have planned? Does he have—magic?”

“And that’s another thing. Moriarty isn’t exactly the  _worst_  of our problems.”

“Then who is?”

Sherlock’s expression darkened as he thought of the dark wizard that they thought had been defeated fourteen years ago. He didn’t fear his name, as so many did.

“His name is Lord Voldemort. And he’s back.”

“And he’s a—a wizard?” 

“A very evil and powerful wizard. He had been defeated years ago, by the Chosen One. But his followers have been gathering in recent years, and I believe they were able to resurrect their  _master_ ,” he spat. “Moriarty is one of them.”

“Where do I come in? I don’t know anything about magic. I don’t see how I could help.”

“Moriarty doesn’t know I know his plan. He hasn’t been guarding his mind as he should. He plans to destroy me in every way possible. First, he has discredited me. Planted the seeds of doubt in the heads of Scotland Yard.”

“And what happens next?”

“He owes me a fall. I’m going to die, Molly Hooper. I can use my magic to disappear, but I need you to provide a body to bury.”

“Why do you need me for that? Can’t you just, I dunno, magic up a copy of yourself?”

“Not that easy. What I can do is alter the appearance of a corpse just enough to give him a passing resemblance, just long enough to have him buried. I need you to perform my postmortem. I can’t risk anyone else looking too closely.”

“So I should find a body roughly your height and build,” she said, a little timidly.

“Precisely. I can make myself disappear easily enough, but I need to appear as if I’m really gone. I don’t know yet for how long. If I don’t appear to be really dead, he’s likely to go after everyone I care about.”

“Alright. You can count on me, Sherlock. I won’t let you down.” Molly gave him a small smile. She was uneasy about keeping this secret, but she knew there was a reason.  _Oh God, does John even know? Does he know about the—the_ magic _?_

“Of course you won’t.” Sherlock replied with a smile of his own. “I have to go. I’ll be in touch.”

“Of course.” Molly stood for a moment, going from the floor to his face. She started to speak one last time, but before she could get a sound out, she thought better of it. She turned to go, nearly making it to the door before she realized she left her bag in the darkened morgue. She turned back, eyes on the spot where Sherlock had stood, but the room was now empty.

“Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?”

 

 


	2. Your Work is Done

The stage was set. The donated corpse was in a drawer in the morgue, ready and waiting. All that was left to do now was wait, so Molly tried to keep busy, cleaning out her desk, scrubbing down every surface, and rechecking her paperwork, trying to keep frayed nerves at bay. Sherlock sat on one of the tables, eyes closed, fingers steepled under his chin. 

“Everything is in order. Did—did you need to see the body?” she asked tentatively. 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at her. A moment, and then he stood. “Yes. Show me.” Molly turned and he followed, coming to a stop on the other side of the drawer, across from her. She opened it and unzipped the body bag. Male, mid thirties, caucasian. Pale skin, dark hair, blue eyes. His clothing was some Sherlock had given her, identical to the garments he wore. Not an exact copy of the man who stood before her, but he could pass as a relative. Sherlock looked at the body for a moment, and then took out his wand. He muttered some words under his breath, and the man’s hair grew longer, his features sharper, and some color returned to his skin, as if he had only recently died. Molly gasped (something she found herself doing quite a lot since the night she learned the truth about Sherlock) and placed a hand over her mouth. Still not identical, but if you weren’t really looking, you might not notice.

“He’ll do. Right then.” He walked back to the table, taking a seat on a chair nearby. A few moments passed, and his mobile sounded. He had a text. Molly almost asked him if wizards usually used mobile phones, but decided this wasn’t the time for one of her questions. She had so many, having just learned about this other world and itching to learn more. She wanted to know everything.

He read the message, and then stood, putting on his coat and scarf without a word. She knew the plan, and now it was time to execute it. She watched him go, and went to battle stations, opening the drawer that held the decoy body and starting to put it on a waiting gurney. A popping sound, and two witches appeared in the middle of the morgue. Molly stared for a moment, as the small, pink-cheeked witch smiled at her sadly. 

“We’re here to help you, my dear.”

————————— 

 

Molly was in a cab, on her way to Baker Street. She sat with her bag next to her on the seat, where every so often a pink nose would emerge, earning a swift bop. It was easier to discipline Sherlock when he looked like any other house cat, even if some of his movements were eerily human. A low growl emitted from her bag.

"You alright, miss?"

"Oh, yes, hungrier than I thought, I suppose," she replied, voice only slightly shaky. Her thoughts were on the events previous. She had performed the post-mortem almost immediately after the fall, and her boss gave her the rest of the day, knowing that she had worked with Sherlock on quite a few cases. The tears shed as she determined cause of death on the disguised corpse were not a part of the dramatics, but it did touch the hearts of her coworkers. The body was disguised very well, and though she knew it wasn't real, it was easy to imagine the real Sherlock there on her slab. That image coupled with the stress of the last few weeks finally got to her, and she broke down, as a lean black cat watched from inside a cabinet.

"We're here, miss."

"Thank you," Molly took out a handful of bills, more than necessary, and handed them to the cabbie. "Keep the change," she added quietly.

"Yes miss, thank you, miss," the cabbie replied, smiling at her sadly. He knew a rough day when he saw one.

Molly smiled back as she carefully placed the bag on her shoulder, hearing the slightest of surprised mews as it was lifted from the seat and carried to the door of 221 Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson met them at the door. Sherlock had explained to Molly previously that she was a witch as well, something that surprised her almost as much as finding out about Sherlock. She smiled sadly at Molly, who knew her eyes were rimmed with red. Sherlock immediately jumped out of the bag and up the stairs, transforming as he went.

"Well, I like that," said Mrs. Hudson, chuckling warmly. She was smiling, but there was worry behind her eyes. She followed him up the stairs, and Molly followed closely behind her. When they reached the sitting room, Sherlock was already packing a bag.

"Where will you go?" asked Molly. He had told her very little of the plan, or even his real life, except that he would disappear, he did magic, and the cat thing was called being an Animag-thingy. 

"He'll be meeting up with the Order, is that right, Sherlock?" answered Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock continued putting things in his bag (which should have been full a long time ago) and replied, "Yes, for a time. Lupin has told me that they can use my help. I'm quite sure that Moriarty's recent activities are no coincidence, and that Voldemort's followers have been gathering to do some more big things." Molly saw Mrs. Hudson flinch at the name.

"Oh Sherlock, I wish you wouldn't."

"Mrs. Hudson, it is fine to fear the man, but to fear the man's name is simply idiotic." She shot him a look at that, but it didn't last for long. She was afraid for her boy.

"Um, what's the Order?"

"Order of the Phoenix. A group of wizards and witches working against Voldemort and his followers. They formed first twenty-odd years ago — I was still in school — and disbanded when we thought he had been killed. Only recently he's back, and the Order is back, too."

"So you'll be fighting dark wizards?"

"Only after they've figured out I'm not dead. Wizards are quite a bit harder to fool than muggles, I'm afraid.”

"And muggles are — are what I am? Should I be offended? By the name, I mean."

"You'll know when you hear a slur." Sherlock clenched a fist at that. He could never abide the discrimination of muggles. Coming from an old wizarding family, he was safe from words like "mudblood", but "blood traitor” was one he was quite familiar with.

The Holmes family had been a respectable pureblood wizarding family, until Sherlock’s grandfather became quite vocal in defense of muggleborn children using magic. He believed that every witch and wizard, regardless of birth or heritage, deserved to practice the gifts they were born with, and were entitled to a magical education.

“And what about me? What should I do now?” she asked quietly.

“Your work is done, Molly Hooper,” he said, turning back to the bag he was almost finished packing.

“So that’s it. You’re not even going to tell me where it is you’ll be going?” Sherlock turned to face her, his face serious.

“Even if I wanted to tell you, there’s no way I could. But believe me, you’re better off not knowing. If you thought Moriarty was a monster, you’ve barely scratched the surface. He was a foot soldier. A genius and a madman, yes, but he was an errand boy. I fear there may be much worse ahead.” 

She gulped, and her eyes filled with water. She willed the tears not to drop; she couldn’t let him see the fear growing inside of her. Sherlock walked over to stand in front of her, and his face softened.

“You’ll go on with your life, Molly Hooper. I may return, but it won’t be until it’s done.” He waited for her to respond. Her mouth opened and closed twice as if she would speak, but no words would come. 

After a few moments, Molly threw her arms around him, her face buried in his chest. The tears stuck in her eyes finally dropped, and she was unable to stop them flowing. Sherlock stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then slowly moved to put his arms around her. She needed comfort above all else, and he didn’t know how to offer it. As they stood, Sherlock tightened his embrace, the stress of the day finally hitting him. 

They stayed as they were for a few moments, until finally Sherlock broke their connection. He took a step back, and he gave her a small smile. “It’s time. Thank you, Molly Hooper. You don’t know what you’ve done.”

“But you’ll tell me, won’t you? When it’s all over?”

“Until we meet again, Molly. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Sherlock.” He took up his suitcase, turned in his spot, and vanished into thin air. Molly’s tear-streaked face stared at the spot where he had stood, until finally Mrs. Hudson walked over to her and took her in her arms.

“It’s over, Molly,” she cooed. “You’ve done a very brave thing, my dear. The worst is over for you.” 

Molly looked up at her, “But the worst isn’t over. Not for him.” Mrs. Hudson looked back at her, her face worry-worn and sad.

She reached a hand to her cheek, wiped away a tear, and replied, “No, dear. I’m afraid it isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The witches that come to help Molly are Hestia Jones and Emmeline Vance, by the way. :)
> 
> There are a few moments in this universe I would like to write (Bart's rooftop comes to mind), but because I'm writing this from Molly's POV, it isn't possible. I may write these as one-shots!
> 
> I may have another chapter written by the end of the day, because I'm home sick. So boooo sinus congestion and grossness, yay time to write.


	3. I'm Here to Catch Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! It will not always be like this, hah. I think I'm starting to hit my stride, and I really love this chapter. Enjoy!

Molly walked up to the door of 221 Baker Street for the first time in months. She hadn’t seen John since the funeral, but she hadn’t quite known what she would say when she saw him. He hadn’t contacted her, but she knew he would be needing his space. She knew it couldn’t have been easy to watch his best friend jump off of the roof of St. Barts, and then put into the ground. Two things she had helped make happen.

Before she could knock, Mrs. Hudson opened the door, and she smiled at the girl. “Molly! Molly dear, do come in.”

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson,” she replied as she followed her into Mrs. Hudson’s sitting room. Mrs. Hudson hurried into the kitchen, kettle on the stove.

“Kettle’s just boiled, would you like some tea? I’m sure I have some biscuits around here somewhere,” she said as she began rummaging through cabinets.

“Actually, I came to see John. Is he in?” Mrs. Hudson paused, closing the cabinet before she turned around. She looked at Molly with pursed lips and sad eyes.

“I’m afraid he’s gone. He moved out a few weeks ago. Couldn’t face an empty flat, I suppose.”

Molly looked down at her feet, wishing she had come sooner. “No, I don’t suppose he could.” The guilt she felt over knowing the things that he couldn’t know overwhelmed her, and she was afraid of breaking down. After Sherlock fell, the event had been all over the media, some declaring him a kidnapper and fraud who couldn’t handle the charade anymore, others a troubled man dealing with mental illness. For weeks after, not a day went by that she didn’t pass a newspaper or a television with his face on it. Molly placed a hand over her eyes and began to softly cry.

Mrs. Hudson walked over to her and enveloped her in a tight embrace. “Oh, no, love. You have no reason to be sad. You know very well that John can’t know.”

“I know. I just— I wish I could tell him he has no reason to be sad. I feel so — so guilty knowing that he’s still alive.”

“I know,” Mrs. Hudson replied simply.

“Have—have you heard from him? Is he okay?” she asked, pulling out of Mrs. Hudson’s hug. Mrs. Hudson smiled at her.

“Oh, just bits and bobs. I get an owl with a coded message every now and then, but the Order keeps everything very hush-hush. They’re not even supposed to exist. He mentioned something about a special project in a few days.”

“So he’s safe?”

“Well, as safe as he can be. His survival is still very much a secret, even in the wizarding community. Not much real danger until the other side finds out he didn’t die.” Molly let out a breath. So far, so good. Mrs. Hudson smiled again, and added “How about that tea, then?”

Molly smiled back at her. “That would be lovely, thank you.” Another grin and Mrs. Hudson walked over to the stove. Instead of pouring the water into the waiting teapot by hand, she took out her wand, waved it, and the kettle lifted itself into the air and tipped itself into the teapot. Mrs. Hudson gave her a sideways grin when she heard Molly gasp, watching with rapt attention. While she waited for the tea to steep, Mrs. Hudson took out a tin of biscuits, arranging them on a tray. She motioned for Molly to have a seat.

Molly took her seat, opening her mouth again to speak. “So what about the flat? Will you have new boarders?”

Mrs. Hudson looked over from her place at the counter, where she had taken down teacups, placing them on the tray with the biscuits and the teapot. “Oh, no dear. Mycroft sends round a check for the rent. He means to keep it up for when this is all over.” She put the sugar bowl and the pitcher of milk on the tray, and brought it over. “How do you take it, dear?”

“Milk and sugar, please. Thank you.” Mrs. Hudson prepared her tea, and handed it to her.

“You really needn’t worry too much about Sherlock. He’s with good people. They’ll take care of him,” she told the younger woman as she prepared her own tea. Molly sipped her cup as she listened thoughtfully. She knew that Sherlock wouldn’t take the risks he had unless he was absolutely sure.

“I know you’re right. It’s just hard—you know, not knowing. I’m so far removed from that world. I wish I could get some sort of sign.” She tapped her fingers on the side of her cup nervously. “So, where did John go?”

Mrs. Hudson paused to think. “Let’s see, I think he was traveling for a while, and then something about his sister. I have a post office box where I’m supposed to forward his letters, that’s all he left.”

“Oh. I just—I guess I thought maybe he would say something. To me, or Greg, or someone.”

“I’m sorry dear, he didn’t seem to want to make a fuss. He’s still grieving.”

Molly took another sip of her tea. “Yes, I suppose so.” The pair sat in silence for a while, drinking their tea. Molly finished hers, and sat her cup and saucer on the table. “Mrs. Hudson, I’m afraid I’ve got to run. I’m due back at Bart’s soon, and they’ll wonder after me.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Hudson took her cup, placing it on the tray and bringing it over to the counter near the stove. While Molly busied herself with her things, Mrs. Hudson took Molly’s cup, turning it over and placing it back on the saucer.

“If you hear anything important, you’ll be sure to let me know, won’t you? From either of them.”

“Of course. It was lovely to see you, my dear. You’re welcome to pop round anytime, you know,” she said. Molly knew Mrs. Hudson must be lonely, after having the two boys to take care of.

“I will,” she told her, meaning it. She wrapped her scarf around her neck, and made for the door. “Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson!”

“Goodbye, Molly dear.” Molly exited the flat, and Mrs. Hudson returned to Molly’s cup. Turning it over, she studied her tea leaves, turning the cup until she was able to see a picture. As she looked, one image formed, clearer than all the others. 

A falcon. Signifying a deadly enemy. Mrs. Hudson dropped the cup, crying out as it shattered on the linoleum. Very quickly, she waved her wand to clear up, running to the window and opening it. She put her head outside, calling up to the sky. 

“Virgil! Come here!” A moment, and a tawny owl flitted in through the window. “Alright old boy, just a moment, and then I have something for you to take to Remus. There’s a good boy,” she told him as she patted his feathers. She rummaged through a drawer and took out a pen and parchment, scribbling a note.

Remus - 

A message for your guest, on the subject of M-H.

We had tea. What was left told a dangerous story.

Please watch over her.

H

She sealed her note, and attached it to the owl’s leg. 

“Here we go, Virgil. Take that to Remus, okay?” The owl looked at her, and then flew out of the open window. Mrs. Hudson stood at the window, watching the owl fly into the distance and wringing her hands. She feared what the tea leaves could mean. Molly had only one deadly enemy that she could imagine.

————

Molly went to Bart’s straight from Baker Street. She entered her office, a stack of paperwork awaiting her. She gave a resigned sigh. It had been a slow death week, with no other excuses to keep her from catching up on the many reports she had still to do. She placed her scarf and jumper on the hook behind the door, and went to sit at her desk. Some minutes rolled by, and then hours. She found herself nodding off a few times before she gave in, finally putting her head on her desk.

She dreamed. Men in black robes and terrifying masks. A pale, long limbed man pointing a wand at a crying woman. A snake. A green light. She woke with a start, looking around her. It was dark outside, she saw from the small window of her office. She paused to wipe a small bit of drool from the side of her mouth, when from the corner of her eye she saw a man in a suit, watching her from a dark corner.

“Hullo, Molls.” Molly’s eyes grew wide as she took him in. She rose slowly, never letting him out of sight.

“Jim. What—what are you doing here?” She slowly opened her desk drawer and found a silver letter opener, clutching it in her hand. It had been a gift from her father, years ago. 

“Now now, Molls, I’m not here to hurt you. You can put that away. I’m here to catch up.” He stepped out of the shadow, dark eyes shining in the dim light. He smirked and drew out his wand, and the letter opener jumped from her hand and across the room to him.

“I—I know what you are.”

“Of course you do, Molls. I bet Sherlock really gave you the skinny, eh? Now have a seat, Molly. I’m just here to chat.” He waved his wand again and her chair was pushed in, knocking her over and back in a seated position. James Moriarty walked over to her desk and placed both hands on the desk, lowering his head so that he was inches away from Molly’s face.

“I should have killed you in your flat, when you fell asleep after we watched one of those infernal romance movies you love so much,” he told her, speaking low. “You and that idiotic cat.” She watched him, trembling. He smirked at her reaction.

“Do you know why he chose you? Why he recruited you?” He took his hands off the desk and walked to the other side of the room, folding his arms and looking out the glass door at the morgue. “Because you don’t matter. You’re expendable.” He turned to face her again. “You are less than swine, you filthy muggle scum.” He spat those last words with venom.

“That—that isn’t true,” she said, her voice shaking. She stood again, her face hard, though her eyes were wet with tears. “I matter. Sherlock told me I’ve always counted.”

Moriarty gave her a look of amused surprise. “Bravery? Is that what this is? Oh, that’s adorable. Oh, Molly. Is it your love that keeps you going?” He giggled.

“I made a promise. I made a promise to a friend.” Molly stood her ground while Moriarty watched her, a delighted grin on his face. He laughed again, a deranged chuckle from deep in his throat as he kept grinning.

“Did you? Oh Molls. This is interesting. We’ll definitely keep watching you. And when we find where Sherlock has locked himself away, he’ll have to watch you. Die. Slowly.” He put his tongue between his teeth as he considered this. “Yes, I’m thinking flaying could be fun. I wonder if he will try to save you? Will he try to save Mousy Molly?”

He paused, eyeing her up and down. “Hm. Doubt it.”

Moriarty walked back to her desk, placing his hands on her desk as he had done before, his eyes boring into hers. “We will burn you, Molly Hooper. Mark this. We will burn you, and Mr. Consulting Detective, and the old woman, and the doctor, and the policeman. Sherlock will watch all of his friends burn. We missed you last time, but we won’t make that mistake again. That blood traitor will suffer.” Molly felt hot tears running down her face. She stood her ground, but was still quaking in fear as Moriarty stood up straight once more, waving at her.

“Toodle-oo, Molly Hooper. We’ll be in touch,” he singsonged, walking out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the Harry Potter Lexicon website for reference on the tea leaves.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated!!!


	4. Right Bloody Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments and kudos! Every little bit of support makes me happy dance! I'll mention again, this is my first fic, so the support means the world!

Molly watched as James Moriarty disappeared just outside her office door. Still shaking, she picked up her mobile, dialing Mrs. Hudson’s number. It was a few moments before Mrs. Hudson answered. Molly hadn’t thought to check the time, but knew it was quite late.

She spoke slowly and gravely. “Mrs. Hudson. Something has happened. I need to come to Baker Street.” Without another word, she ended the call, gathered her things, and rushed out the door. 

It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, so the tube was still running. She needed to be in a crowd of people. She walked quickly to the station, ducking in and going through the turnstiles. She rushed to her train and endured the ten minute ride impatiently. Her eyes flitted around her, watching each person carefully. Death Eaters, they were called. They could be anywhere. Be anyone. She prayed to every god she could imagine to just get her safely to Baker Street.

Arriving at the Baker Street station, she rushed up the stairs and back into the street, hurrying along. A few more minutes and she arrived at 221, winded and fatigued. Mrs. Hudson met her at the door.

“Molly, please, hurry in, child.” She followed Mrs. Hudson, who locked the door behind them, and was ushered into the sitting room, where a thin man with greying-brown hair was seated on the sofa. He looked to be about the same age as Sherlock, but more fatigued and careworn, older than his years. He stood when Molly entered the room.

“Remus, this is Molly. Molly, Remus is a member of the Order.” Remus Lupin nodded his head toward her at the introduction. Molly returned with a stiff smile, and then turned to Mrs. Hudson.

“I only called you twenty minutes ago, how could he be here?”

Mrs. Hudson looked at her a little guiltily. “I’m afraid I read your tea leaves without your permission. What I saw—well, it gave me pause. So I sent a message to Remus straightaway.”

“You what? You read my— never mind. I don’t know how anything could surprise me anymore.”

“Molly, your tea leaves told me a deadly enemy was on his way to you. And I think I know which one.” Molly was trembling, her eyes darting from the floor to the two other people in the room. “It was him, wasn’t it?” Molly nodded, biting her lip.

Remus finally spoke. “Molly, tell us what happened. What did he say?” 

Molly told them everything. How Moriarty had gotten into the hospital with no one knowing. How he seemed to know about Sherlock’s survival. About her role in it all.

“He said—he said he would make sure Sherlock saw us suffer. He said, ‘that blood traitor will suffer.’”

“When Sherlock said you were helping him, I was afraid of something like this.” Remus watched Molly carefully. “Sherlock trusts you most of all. Which means you’re the one they’ll come after. We have to keep you safe.”

“Me? But why? I’m—I’m just Molly. Daft Molly Hooper who pined after a sociopath for two years.” She laughed hollowly. “Maybe he trusts me, sure, but I’m not as important as all that.” Her fear gave way to some frustration. It was all too much, and it had been too much since she first set eyes on Sherlock Holmes.

“If Sherlock says you’re important, there is a reason. He may be cold and mad, but he’s the greatest judge of character I know,” Remus replied. “You know that’s true.” Molly blushed slightly. It was true that Sherlock knew just about everything about everyone, and if he thought she was something, then maybe she was. She never thought she would ever be anything more than Mousy Molly, but perhaps she was being given an opportunity.

“We have people watching John Watson and Detective Inspector Lestrade. Mycroft is keeping an eye on Mrs. Hudson, as we need her here as a liaison. But you, Molly. I think you might need to come with us.”

“C-come with you? What do you mean?”

“To Order headquarters. That way we can ensure your safety. Moriarty has already come to you once, I worry he will find you again, unless we can make sure that can’t happen.”

“But—I just—Mrs. Hudson?”

“He’s right, dear. The Order can protect you better than anyone. You’ll have to go with them.”

“B-but, my job, and—and Toby. What about my things?”

“We can arrange it with your boss. He’ll think you’re on an extended leave of absence. Family trouble. Someone will accompany you to your flat to pack a bag and collect your cat.”

“You really have thought of everything,” she muttered, overwhelmed.

“Nymphadora should be here at any moment. She’ll take you to your flat.” A pop, and there appeared a young woman with bright pink hair and wild eyes. “Ah, and here she is.”

“You know I hate being called Nymphadora, Remus.” She smiled at the man, and turned to the other girl in front of her. “You’ll be Molly, then? Call me Tonks,” she told her, extending a hand. Molly took it tentatively, giving the girl a strained smile.

“Pleasure.” She hugged her arms to her, eyes darting from the floor to the strangers. 

“Wonderful. Now if you’ll just take my arm, we’ll go—“

“Wait!” Molly’s arms dropped to her side, fists clenched. “What the HELL is happening right now? I didn’t ask for any of this! I was just threatened by a man I dated, who I then found out was a bloody psychopath, who I THEN found out was a bloody WIZARD. I’m about to leave my job, and my flat, and my friends for an indefinite period of time because Sherlock chose right BLOODY now to decide that I’m important! This is too much. This is all too much!” Molly was shouting and placed a hand on her forehead in exasperation. Mrs. Hudson looked concerned, and Remus and Tonks looked a little bit frightened. They hadn’t expected to have any difficulties, to hear Sherlock describe the girl, and they certainly hadn’t expected for her to shout at them in the middle of Mrs. Hudson’s sitting room.

Tonks was the first one to approach. She took Molly’s hand and led her away from the others. “Molly, I know this is quite a lot, and you only just learned about most of this a few months ago. But I’m afraid there really is no better way. Moriarty knows you. He knows your home, your work, everywhere you could go. But he can’t find you at the headquarters. I’m afraid the only way for us to keep you safe is to hide you away. Just until this is over.”

“‘Until this is over.’ You lot keep saying that. When will this all be bloody well over?” Molly replied softly, a sob rising from her throat.

“I’m afraid none of us has the answer to that,” Remus said softly. “But we have to make the most of the time we have now. Let us keep you safe.”

Molly nodded, surrendering her arm to Tonks. “Alright, what do I have to do.”

Tonks smiled at her. “Okay, you’ve seen wizards appear and disappear, yeah? Like I did a little while ago?” Molly nodded. “We’re gonna do that. Or, I’m gonna do that, and I’m taking you with me, alright? You just have to hang on, got it?”

Molly shrugged, and her face said “this may as well happen”. Tonks grinned again. She was liking Molly Hooper.

“Right then! Hang on tight!” Tonks turned in her spot, and Molly felt a lurch from behind her belly button as she was pulled from 221 Baker Street. Another moment and she was standing in front of her flat, her legs turned to jelly. She felt queasy, and before she could stop it, she vomited into the bushes.

“And that’s why we land outside,” Tonks announced cheerily, an amused smile dancing across her face. Molly looked back at her with an annoyed look. “Right. Um, in we go, then.” Molly took out the key to her flat and opened the door, letting them both in.

Neither were prepared for the scene that met their eyes. Her sitting room had been ransacked, her things strewn about the room. Magazines and letters were on the floor, the sunny artificial daffodils that she loved so much had been taken out of their vases and thrown to the floor, and on the wall behind the sofa, written in red, were the words “WELCOME HOME, MOLLY HOOPER”. Molly let out a gasp, and Tonks, who came in a moment later, let out a cry of her own.

“Oh my god. He was here.”

“Molly, don’t move.” Tonks went into Auror-mode, taking out her wand and scanning the area. She poked her head into each of the rooms of Molly’s small, four room flat. “It’s all clear. I think he just wanted to scare you some more.”

“Well, he did it.” Molly walked over to the sofa and plopped down, unable to hold back the flood of tears. Tonks walked over and sat down next to her, putting an arm around the crying woman.

“It’s okay, Molly. Let it out. I daresay if anyone deserves a good cry, it’s you. I know it’s quite a lot.”

“Everything was fine. Sure, the man I’ve loved for years never looked at me the way I wanted to, but I was mostly content. A good job with paid vacations and most weekends off, a nice flat with a garden, a cat. A good life. And then I met Jim from IT, the lunatic with magical powers. What did I do to deserve all of this?” Molly placed her head in her hands.

Tonks paused before replying, a look of concern on her face. “Maybe—maybe it means you’re stronger than you think. You’re not just ordinary Molly Hooper. More formidable people than you would have gone off by now, chucked it all and stayed home for the rest of their lives. But—but you looked evil in the face. You’re still going.”

“But I’m hiding, aren’t I? What else would you call what I’m about to do?”

“It’s not hiding—well, maybe sort of, but it is necessary. This doesn’t mean your story is over, Molly Hooper.” Molly sniffed and dried the tears from her eyes, smiling at Tonks. “That’s better. Now go pack your things. I’ll see if I can find your cat.” Molly nodded and went into her bedroom.

————

When Molly emerged from her bedroom, suitcases in tow, she saw Tonks lying belly-down next to the armchair by the window, trying to coax a stubborn Toby out into the open. Molly smiled at the pair, putting down her two (quite large) suitcases. She walked over to the chair, kneeling in front of it.

“Toby, c’mere love. We’re going on a trip! You’ll love it!” The cat poked his nose out from under the chair at the sound of his mistress’s voice. “There’s a lad. C’mon!” He wriggled out from his hidey hole and slunk over to Molly, rubbing against her knees. Very quickly, she stood, scooped him up, and put him in the carrier that was placed on top of the chair. 

Tonks hoisted herself up from the floor, crossing her arms and eyeing Toby suspiciously. “You just wanted to see how long I would do that, didn’t you?” she accused, addressing the cat. Molly giggled.

“He’s finicky. I think I’m one of the only people he even likes,” she said, smiling at Toby.

“Well, he’s in for a rude awakening. I think we’re going to have a full house where we’re going. Are you ready then?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Right. Shall we?” Molly nodded, taking Toby’s carrier and one of her suitcases in hand, while Tonks took the other. “Hang tight to Toby!” Tonks took one of Molly’s arms with her free hand, and they were on their way once more. 

Once again, it felt like someone was pulling her with a hook located in her belly button, and it was all Molly could do to hang on to Toby’s carrier. She gripped the handles of the carrier and the suitcase with a vise-like death grip, and just as she felt she couldn’t hang on any longer, they were dropped onto the pavement. Toby let out a disgruntled yowl, clearly unhappy with the choice in transportation.

Tonks looked over at Molly carefully. “How’s your stomach?”

“Empty, fortunately,” she said grouchily.

“Hmm, maybe next time we’ll travel a different way. Not a lot of time for planning, though. Anyway, here we are!” Molly looked around at the empty street, absolutely ordinary in every way. She looked a bit closer, and she saw a number eleven and a number thirteen on the two houses in front of them. “Hmm, should be any moment.” 

“No need to be impatient, Nymphadora.” Molly whirled around to see a man who wasn’t there moments ago. If she had ever held an image of a wizard in her mind, he fulfilled every detail. Tall and formidable, with a kind face, long white hair and beard, and half-moon spectacles. He was smiling at the pair of them. He walked up to Molly and took her hand. “You’re Molly Hooper. Mr. Holmes has told me about you.”

“A pleasure, Mr.— ”

“My name is Albus Dumbledore. I’m glad I was able to be here to receive you. Come, ladies.” He turned to face the buildings they stood in front of. “Miss Hooper, we’re going to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.” He said this very softly to her, so as not to be overheard.

Molly looked at the buildings quizzically, from Eleven to Thirteen. “But—but there isn’t one.”

The wizard smiled wisely, looking like a picture in a fairybook. “Look again, Miss Hooper.” She looked again, and another structure was pushing against numbers Eleven and Thirteen, until finally a door appeared.

“Impossible,” she breathed. Dumbledore extended a hand to her, leading her through the door of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

Molly barely had time to take in her surroundings before her ears were met with otherworldly shrieking from somewhere in the entrance hall. She clapped her hands to her ears, but could hear a tirade of insults and frustrations all the same.

“HOW DARE YOU! THE LOWEST OF SCUM, THE DIRT BENEATH MY FEET! HOW DARE YOU BRING THIS FILTH INTO THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!”


	5. Please Look at Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five, y'all! Enjoy! And, as I've said, feedback makes me giddy like you won't believe! :)

Molly put down her things as a tall, thin man with long black hair rushed into the hall and toward a large portrait of a woman. The screaming seemed to be coming from the woman, who moved in her frame like an image on a television screen. The man took hold of the curtains on either side of the frame and pushed them together with all his might, a task which seemed to be more difficult than it should be. 

“SHUT UP, OLD WOMAN!” he shouted as he was finally able to close the curtains. The woman was finally silent, and the man stared at the closed curtains for a moment, before pushing his hair out of his face and turning toward the group with a soft smile.

“Dumbledore, Tonks! Glad you’re here.” He then turned to Molly, extending a hand. “And you’ll be Molly, I expect.” Molly took his hand and shook it. “Sirius Black. Welcome to the Black family estate. Shithole that it is.”

“Thank you. And who—”

“Dear old mummy,” he said with a grimace. “I’ve been trying to keep her covered, but that damn elf keeps opening it. Gets nostalgic. Come, Sherlock is here, he’ll want to see you.”

Molly felt a flush rise to her cheeks and her hands begin to shake. She hadn’t seen nor heard from him since that day in Baker Street, nearly two months ago, but she had thought about him every day since.

She followed Sirius down the hall and down a cold, narrow staircase finally leading into what appeared to be the kitchen, a large, dark room with a long wooden table running through the center. A lamp burned in the center of the table, the room’s only light. At the end of the table sat Sherlock, eyes closed, in his usual thinking position. Sirius rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.

“What do you want, Sirius?” he said, without opening his eyes.

“Someone here,” he replied. Sherlock opened his eyes, and saw Molly. For a moment he smiled, uncharacteristically glad to see a familiar face. But when he seemed to realize what her presence meant, he frowned again, remorse passing over his face.

“Molly. I’m so sorry. I—” His voice caught in his throat. This wasn’t the man who told her he liked her hair in order to get her to smuggle him thumbs to use in his experiments, the man who called sentiment a chemical defect. This was the man he kept under lock and key. “I never meant—”

“I know,” she interrupted. She quickly looked down at her fingers as they twisted in the sleeves of her jumper.

“I’ll leave you to it. I need to speak with Dumbledore before he leaves.” Sirius was more interested in discussing tactics than bearing witness to a tearful reunion.

“Of course,” Sherlock replied, nodding a head politely in Sirius’ direction.

“Thank you, Sirius,” said Molly, giving the ragged looking man a small smile. Sirius inclined his head in a bow toward her, returning the smile. 

As Sirius made his way up the stairs, Molly walked toward Sherlock, standing in front of a seat at the table. Sherlock motioned for her to sit, and she did. He watched her for a few moments as she fidgeted. She found a thread on her sleeve that she was suddenly incredibly interested in.

“Molly.” She was still looking down. “Molly, please look at me.” She did, and her eyes were filled with tears. His expression softened as he paused before speaking, finding it difficult to put the words together. Instead he watched as tears fell silently down her cheek, his brow furrowed. Wearing the same clothes from work. Cat hair on the front of her jumper. Hair hastily redone. “Tell me what happened.”

She was having trouble breathing, and each word came out with even greater difficulty. “It—was—Jim. He—he was there—at Bart’s. And then—and then at my flat— someone—someone had been there. He told me—he said you—” Before she could get out another word, she collapsed into a heap on the table, ragged sobs betraying the bravery she had tried so hard to maintain.

“Molly, you must know, if I had known he would come after you, I never would have put you in the position. I would have found someone else.” Sherlock stood abruptly and began pacing the floor. Molly looked up to see a Sherlock she hadn’t seen. One with fire in his eyes and hatred in his belly.

“Sherlock, I—”

“As long as you’re here, you’re safe. Molly Hooper, I will not let anything else happen to you.” He stopped and turned to face her once more. “I—I swear to you.”

Molly stared at him with wide eyes. The fierceness with which he said those words both frightened and comforted her. He was not lying to her. She looked down again, and went to stand. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say next.

“I—I should go check on Toby. New house and all.” She was entranced by her hands once more. She waited a beat, and then turned to go up the stairs. Sherlock watched her go, and then resumed his seat. His eyes remained open, and he was reminded of wise words of an old friend. Constant vigilance.

—————

Now that the portrait in the hall was no longer yelling, and no one else was around, Molly had time to properly view the strange house she was in. It felt like a museum, cold and impossibly old, pictures covered in dust and cobwebs in each corner. The house was mostly silent, though she could hear hushed voices in the dining room. Her suitcases had been moved, presumably to where it was she would be staying, but the cat carrier remained in the hall, door open, no Toby in sight. She began looking around the ground floor, tiptoeing all the way, singing Toby’s name softly and whistling.

As she called for Toby, she heard a gravelly voice from behind her, muttering to itself. “Finally let one in, I see, clearing up the dirt left by muggles now, mistress would be most displeased, most displeased indeed.”

Molly whirled around to see a small creature with bat-ears and a drawn face, eyeing her suspiciously. She let out a cry of surprise, jumping backwards.

“Oh! Hello! Um, I’m Molly. And you are?” The creature mumbled something incoherently and chuckled to himself, enjoying a private joke. “Um, have you seen a cat? He’s a tabby? I think he’s the only one here, but to be honest, I don’t even know what other people are here.”

“You won’t get much out of him. I shouldn’t bother, if I were you. He’s useless.” Molly turned to see Sirius walking toward her. “Kreacher, if you can’t make yourself useful, get out of my sight,” he said, with some venom. Molly watched with wide eyes as Kreacher spat at Sirius and scurried away. Sirius made to shout after him, but seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it.

“What—um, who was that?” Molly asked, choosing her words carefully. She would be a experiencing this world first hand for a while, and she wanted it to go smoothly.

“Kreacher is a house elf. He was—part of my inheritance, unfortunately.”

“He’s a servant?”

“Born and bred. He doesn’t do much nowadays, other than steal my mother’s things. He was quite devoted. Detests me, but he is under obligation to do as I say.”

“Oh.” Molly was taking it in. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she found what she knew to be true to be at odds with what she was seeing firsthand.

Sirius gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’re probably exhausted. I’ll show you to your room.” Molly nodded, and followed as he led the way to a winding staircase.

Molly gasped as she mounted the stairs, seeing the mounted heads of what appeared to be former Black family house elves hung on the wall. Sirius suppressed a chuckle, knowing that even most wizards would find it crass, or at least less than aesthetically pleasing.

“My family was—is—well, loathsome,” he stated with a wry smile. They made their way up three floors before they stopped at a landing and walked down a hallway, stopping in front of a door. “Here you are, we already brought up your things. Lavatory’s at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you,” she replied. Sirius smiled and nodded.

“I’ll tell everyone to let you have a bit of a lie in. Good night, Molly,” he said. 

“Good night,” she replied. Sirius continued up the staircase as Molly let herself in to the bedroom. She took in her surroundings, noting her suitcases stacked in a corner, and Toby fast asleep on the bed. She smiled, walking over to the sleeping cat and picking him up, snuggling him close to her. She lay down on top of the covers, still holding Toby, and began stroking him. The warm cat purred contentedly, and soon Molly was asleep, exhausted from the days events.

— 

Sherlock made his way down the hall when he saw a door ajar. He opened the door wider to see Molly asleep, sprawled on top of the coverlet. Toby had abandoned her in favor of some nocturnal exploration; Sherlock last saw him cornering some doxies in the drawing room. Molly slept soundly for the first time in months, finally drained of all energy. She shivered, and Sherlock frowned. Taking out his wand, he waved it in her direction and a blanket slowly flew across the room and gently covered the sleeping woman. 

He stood at the door frame for a moment, brow wrinkled in worry. He then closed her door carefully, and went down the hall to his own room.

— 

When Molly woke it was late morning, and sunlight shone through the single window of the bedroom. It was a moment before she remembered where she was, feeling still groggy and a little fuzzy. She sat up, upsetting the blanket she didn’t remember having when she fell asleep, and looked around for Toby.

She swung her legs around to place both feet on the floor, pausing before standing. The events of the past twelve hours were overwhelming and frankly, a little ridiculous, but there was nothing to do but see what was coming next. She stood and walked over to one of her suitcases, opening one and removing a change of clothes. She went to the door, opening it just a crack and looking out. The hallway was empty, so Molly scurried out and tiptoed quickly to the door of the lavatory to freshen up.

She was washing her face when a series of hasty knocks made her jump. “Sorry! Hello! Someone’s in here!”

“Yes, dear, I know!” It was a woman’s voice she didn’t recognize. “I just wanted to let you know, now you’re awake, that there’s some bacon and toast down in the kitchen, if you’re hungry, which I expect you are!” It was a kind voice, motherly. It made Molly feel at ease, and she smiled in spite of the stress she was still feeling.

“Oh! Thank you very much! I—I’l be down in a little while! Thank you!”

“No trouble, dear! Carry on!” Molly listened as she heard the footsteps disappear down the hall. Now that she considered it, she was very hungry, and her stomach growled in agreement.

She quickly finished her ablutions, put her things back in her room, and made her way back down the long staircase.

The rabble of voices she heard from the kitchen was a stark contrast to the near-silence from last night. She stood at the doorway to see a crowd of people, most of them sporting a shock of bright orange hair. Remus and Sirius were both there, and standing at the head, the apparent director of the meal, was a plump, middle-aged woman with a kind face. The woman looked up and smiled at Molly, rushing to her side.

“There you are, dear! You’re Molly Hooper, is that right?”

Molly smiled back, recognizing the voice from this morning. “Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you! And you—” 

“I’m Mrs. Weasley, dear. I’m called Molly as well!” Mrs. Weasley chuckled good-naturedly, and Molly joined in.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Weasley. Are you staying here as well?”

“Yes, dear. We got in this morning! We’re going to get this place shipshape! I’m afraid it hasn’t been lived in in a very long time, it’s gone a bit downhill.” Mrs. Weasley led her to the table and sat her down in front of a plate full of food. “Here we are, dear. Milk and sugar?” Mrs. Weasley suddenly had a teapot in hand, pouring a cup and setting it near her plate.

“Yes, thank you! This is all lovely. Thank you for going to the trouble.”

“Oh, no trouble, dear.” Mrs. Weasley smiled at her as she began her breakfast. She introduced her to what seemed to be almost the entire Weasley clan, including her husband, four sons, a daughter, and a girl — not related — with brown curly hair, who was about fifteen (a classmate of her son’s, it would be explained to her later). She fell into easy conversation with the Weasley family. They reminded her very much of her own family, before her father passed away: large gatherings of loud Hoopers, her older brothers teasing her, and her mother doting on the lot of them. The Weasleys helped Molly feel very much at home, and before long they were swapping stories and laughing around the kitchen table.

Molly saw Sirius look toward the doorway, and she turned to see Sherlock standing there, watching the group. Molly smiled at him, and Mrs. Weasley rushed over to him.

“Sherlock! Come, come sit! Have some breakfast!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, but that isn’t necessary,” he told her, but she would have none of it. She took him by the elbow and guided him to the table to sit next to Molly. He didn’t resist, but he was smiling sadly. Molly guessed that Mrs. Weasley must remind him of Mrs. Hudson, who he no doubt missed terribly. Mrs. Weasley put a plate in front of him, and he politely ate.

“How did you sleep?” His voice was soft among the rabble of the group’s conversation, as it was directed only to her. Molly smiled nervously as she glanced at him between bites of toast.

“Um, fine, thanks. Did you—oh, well, you probably don’t—I mean—”

“It’s true I don’t usually sleep more than a few hours at a time while I’m on a case. But, I will admit, I’ve been sleeping almost as much as other people while here.”

“Good, good. I mean—it’s— I’m sure you’ve needed it.” She was falling back into old habits, with the stammering and odd phrasing. Her face grew red, and she avoided his gaze. When she turned to look at him, she saw he was staring at her intently. She grew a still darker shade of red and looked away.

“Molly, I need to speak with you, alone.” 

“Oh, alright, just—just whenever you need, I suppose. I’m not exactly busy, am I?” she replied with a nervous laugh. He nodded in response, giving her a small smile.

Sherlock stood, turned to Molly, and told her, "I'll be in the drawing room." He then turned and left the room.

"Oh! He meant now. Alright. Thank you again for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley."

"You're welcome, dear," she said with a smile. "Now run along, you know Sherlock when he sets his mind to something." She did know.

Molly exchanged pleasantries with the group and left the room, going back up the staircase to the ground floor and down the entrance hall to the drawing room.


	6. Not Eton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so so sorry for the delay of this chapter! Life has been a little crazy lately (doing a show, working night shifts, going to a wedding this weekend), so the NEXT one will probably be a little while as well. Never fear! It will come! Again, thank you for reading, and all the nice kudos and comments. They give me a happy whenever they arrive! :) <3

She entered the room and Sherlock was seated on an armchair, legs crossed under him, his eyes closed and fingers steepled under his chin.

Molly sat across from him on a sofa and cleared her throat. His eyes snapped open, and her presence registered. He drew his legs out from under himself and watched her silently for a moment. 

"So, Sherlock, what did you need to talk about?"

"I thought it was time I told you some things about our situation. I—” he paused, unsure how to approach the subject. "I don't know when you'll be able to go home."

Molly held her breath. She had, of course, considered this a possibility, but she had tried to remain optimistic.

"When Moriarty is gone, there will be others. I enlisted the help of a muggle, and to them that is the lowest thing a wizard can do. They will try to kill you—and me— use us as symbols. It's my fault, I was foolish. I should have—I should have found someone else."

"You can't change it now. You couldn't have known."

"But I should have!" he shouted. Molly stood and went to him, kneeling next to the chair and taking his hand. He started to pull away, but she held fast. Finally he relaxed and gathered his thoughts, continuing. “Molly, if you don’t want to stay here, I can make other arrangements. Mycroft can find a safe house for you, with enchantments against dark magic. We can station an auror to stay with you at all times.”

“I want to help.”

“Molly, don’t be stupid.”

“Sherlock, I can’t just sit and wait for it to be over. I—I have to do something.” She didn’t remember standing, but there she was, towering over a still seated Sherlock, still clutching his hand. Only now he was holding on to hers, matching her grip.

“Molly,” he began, clearing his throat. He was choosing his words carefully, and they came out slowly. “I have often said that emotion is a weakness that hinders the mental processes. But, as you know, over the past few years I have found myself experiencing more than I would prefer. First, John, who has become my best friend. And— you. I’ve already told you I trust you, but you should know I also consider you a very dear friend.”

Molly watched him with wide eyes, but his gaze remained straight ahead.

“Molly, I— I couldn’t bear to lose you. You may be the only friend I have left.” She didn’t know how to answer him, so she knelt down again and brought him into an embrace. He surrendered to it easily, and she could see the stress of the past few months had been heavy. He had lost weight, and his eyes were weary. She released him and faced him, hands remaining on his shoulders. She smiled sadly at him.

“I’ll stay here. I—I don’t want to lose you, either. We should stick together.” In a moment of bravery, Molly leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, as he had done the night of the Christmas party. He reddened slightly, placing a hand on his face. Molly returned to the sofa and sat down. “Now, I think it’s time you told me everything.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded his head. “Right then.” He paused, mentally gathering the required information. “As you have likely guessed, I have always been a wizard. I come from a long and very prestigious line of pureblood wizards, meaning that there is not a drop of muggle blood in my lineage, at least as far as any of us know. Now, occasionally, a muggleborn child will exhibit magical abilities, with no knowledge of any magic within their family. Many wizards think nothing of it, and consider them just as any wizard, but there are others who think that they are an affront, that they are less than. My father’s father was the first in our family to speak out against their ill treatment, and since then, the Holmes family have been considered blood traitors.”

“And I assume that has something to do with your fall? With what’s happening—out there?”

“Voldemort and his followers are among those who believe muggles to be less human. That wizards are somehow more highly evolved, and that muggles should be put in their place.” He said this with some venom, and Molly put a hand to her mouth as she listened. “After I left school, I decided to turn my back on the wizarding world. I was disgusted with the lot of them, and as a younger man, very angry. That’s when I decided to live in the muggle world exclusively. When I decided to become a detective.”

“But why you? I mean, why do they want to kill you?”

“Oh, they’ve had their eye on me since I was in school. They had hoped to recruit me, but I could never live with myself if I did anything for them. And then, practically living as a muggle, I was joining the very scum they hoped to obliterate. But when Voldemort was killed — or when we thought he was— there was not much they could do. You already know I’m brilliant, Molly, but I’m also quite powerful. The ministry had hopes I’d become an auror, but I’d never do anything anyone wanted me to. As a boy I quite wanted to be a pirate.” He shot Molly a grin at that statement, and she giggled before she could help herself.

His face returned to a serious one. “But now that he’s back— now everything has changed. There’ve been rumblings for years, when Moriarty began his work. The Death Eaters have been trying to bring Voldemort back since before then.”

Molly’s brow furrowed. She was worried. “Sherlock, are you safe?”

“I won’t be safe until he is dead. None of us will be.” A shiver ran down Molly’s spine. That’s what she had been afraid of.

“And in the meantime?” she asked him.

“In the meantime, I’m still dead, at least to everyone outside this house, besides Mrs. Hudson,” he replied.

“And Jim.” He clenched his jaw at the sound of his name. Sherlock would make sure one way or another that Moriarty paid for his crimes, especially those against his friends.

“And if Moriarty knows, Voldemort knows, unless he’s keeping it to himself for one reason or another, which isn’t likely.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “I should have left the country. I should have made you leave the country.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she said quickly, looking him in the eye.

“You would have if I had asked you to,” he stated simply, and she lowered her head to look at the floor, unable to deny it.  It was probably true. She would do anything for him. “Now,” he began, standing. “I’m going out on Order business tonight.”

Molly stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you absolutely bonkers? You just said that the most powerful, evil wizard in the world knows you’re still alive and kicking and you’re going to go gallivanting with the Order? I don’t think so!” She stood, a hand on her hip and the other wagging a finger in his direction. Sherlock was reminded of Mrs. Hudson.

“Running from dark wizards has apparently given you a backbone, Molly.” He smirked at her and her eyes flashed dark. Immediately his smirk turned into a frown, and the great Sherlock Holmes looked like he was a child being scolded. “Molly, they need me,” he pleaded.

Her eyes softened and she brought her hands to her temples. “Sherlock, how could you put yourself in such danger?”

“I’ll be with the Order’s Advance Guard. The best wizards the Order has, I’ll be safe. It’s only an errand.”

“Where will you go?”

“Surrey.”

“Surrey?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s in Surrey?”

“A fifteen-year-old boy by the name of Harry Potter. We’re to bring him here.”

“What for?” she questioned. It didn’t seem like a dangerous task, but if it was being spearheaded by something called an “Advance Guard,” there had to be something more to it.

“I’m only about number five on Voldemort’s list. Harry Potter is number one.”

“But you said he’s only fifteen.”

“He’s topped that list since he was a year old. Harry Potter is the reason Voldemort was destroyed the first time, fourteen years ago. He killed Lily and James Potter, and then tried to kill the child, but for some reason he couldn’t. Instead, Voldemort was killed, or so we thought, and the boy lived.”

“How?” Molly asked.

“No one knows. On Halloween night nearly fourteen years ago, Voldemort was destroyed and Harry Potter, just an infant, survived. They call him ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ A few days ago, he and his cousin were attacked by Dementors not two streets from his home.”

“Dementors?”

“Vile creatures, used as prison guards, mostly. They destroy their victims by sucking out their souls. A fate worse than death.”

“How horrible!”

“They’re supposed to be under Ministry control, but it seems some may be on the other side. Molly, I have to go with them. Remus asked me personally. You have to understand,” he told her seriously, face making it clear that he was not asking her permission.

“I suppose.” She sank back into the seat of the sofa with a sigh. Everything about this world seemed excessively dangerous, and she wasn’t sure whether she would ever get used to it. She watched Sherlock, his face set, and knew there was nothing she could say to make him stay at Grimmauld Place. At least he wouldn’t be alone, there was going to be a group of the best wizards around, apparently. And there was the boy, the boy who had no mother and father. Molly couldn’t bear to imagine anything happening to him, a boy who had already known so much tragedy.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Molly, watching as she sat deep in thought. His face changed from stern to soft, and he spoke again. “I truly am sorry, Molly. I don’t wish to worry you. I know I’ve expected you to take a lot in stride.” Molly breathed a soft laugh at this statement, and the corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched upwards in amusement. They both relaxed as much as they could, letting silence fill the air for the moment.

“Well, I have quite a bit of time until I’m needed,” he began. “Is there anything you’d like to know? About this world? About magic?” Molly’s eyes lit up. She had done nothing but speculate about the wizarding world since she first saw Sherlock transform into a cat.

“Sirius and Remus—you’d be about their age, right?”

“We were in the same year at school, yes.”

“Not Eton, I suppose?”

Sherlock chuckled softly. “No, not Eton. We attended Hogwarts School. It’s where young witches and wizards go to hone their abilities and learn skills and techniques. Widely regarded as the finest magical institution in the world.”

“Tell me about Hogwarts.” Molly listened intently as Sherlock told her about a grand castle with moving staircases and secret passageways, classes where the students brewed potions and made objects fly, and the giant squid in the lake on the grounds. She imagined that you could only have adventures at a school like that, and was somewhat jealous that she couldn’t experience it. Toby sauntered into the room and immediately jumped onto Sherlock’s lap, startling him for a second before the tabby settled in to nap. Molly smiled at the cat, purring and content as Sherlock stroked his fur.

Sherlock told her about how when he was eleven years old he was sorted into Gryffindor house, which had surprised everyone. He always assumed he would be a Ravenclaw, as Mycroft had been, as they are more noted for their wit and intelligence, whereas Gryffindor house is known for bravery and courage. But the Sorting Hat saw something in his head he didn’t, and he couldn’t argue. He didn’t have a lot in common with the other boys in his house, but he did have a rapport with Remus, who was the more reserved and studious of the tight band of troublemakers he ran around with.

“In fact,” said Sherlock, “I was the first one to deduce that Remus was, in fact, a werewolf.” He said this simply, as if there could be nothing out of the ordinary about his statement.

Molly’s eyes grew wide. “He’s—he’s a what? A werewolf?! You mean—werewolves?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Is—is he—safe?”

“Of course he is. He goes away at the full moon, of course, but he’s quite safe. The other days of the month he’s no different than you or I.”

“It took the others months to figure it out. I don’t know that Sirius ever knew that you followed us to the Shrieking Shack almost every month.” Molly turned her head to see Remus in the doorway, smiling softly at the pair. Molly returned with a smile of her own, and gestured for him to join them. He entered and took a seat in another armchair. “And of course, you worked out the Animagus spell long before the rest of them, didn’t you? I vaguely remember chasing a black cat around the Forbidden Forest a few times.”

“I needed to observe. When was I next going to have the chance to observe a werewolf?” Sherlock smiled at his colleague. Molly watched the two reminisce, unable to keep a grin off her own face. She wondered if his disillusionment with the wizarding world and subsequent self-exile had kept him from knowing true friendship before John Watson walked into Bart’s lab. Sherlock caught Molly grinning at him and she felt a flush rise to her cheeks. He smiled back at her, and she spoke to break the silence.

“You gave all of that up to become a detective.”

“Magic makes everything too easy. I wanted to see if I was just as good without it. Turns out I’m better.” He smirked with pride.

“And so humble,” muttered Molly, rolling her eyes. “So you don’t use your magic when you work a case?” She had been wondering about this, deciding it would certainly explain quite a lot.

“No, that would be cheating. The game’s no fun if you cheat.”

“It’s always a game,” said Remus, smiling and shaking his head. “Molly, our divination professor thought he was the next great prophet, because he told her exactly what she had with her tea every afternoon.”

“Easy enough if you take the time to observe.”

“So you were as big an arse then as you are now.” Molly’s bold words shocked Sherlock, and he gaped at her while Remus howled with laughter. Oh yes, she had definitely grown a backbone. She was much less predictable than she had been previously. She grinned back at him, feeling triumphant, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he rethought everything he knew about her.

The three chatted through the afternoon, and soon the room grew dim as the sun sank lower. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hallway, and a voice Molly didn’t recognize was shouting.

Remus turned his head toward the sound calmly. “Ah, that’ll be Moody. Come Sherlock, he’ll want to speak with all of us before tonight.”

“Right.” He nodded his head and went to stand, momentarily forgetting that Toby was still fast asleep on his lap. The cat yowled as he twisted in the air, landing on his feet and running out of the room. Sherlock turned to Molly. “We’ll talk some more later.” Molly nodded as she watched the two leave the room, prompting more of a commotion as they greeted the new visitor in the hall. Molly sat back on the sofa again and considered all of the things she had learned, and smiled. It really was an extraordinary world.


	7. Roped In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait! I had trouble writing this one because I made the mistake of starting another chapter simultaneously that I was enjoying writing more, but I needed this one, too. So enjoy! And please please please comment! I'd like to know how I'm doing!

They’d been gone for quite a while. Molly had been tired of pacing, so she went down to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Weasley required any help with dinner. She seemed to have it handled, as a paring knife was on one counter peeling potatoes by itself, the pot on the stove was being stirred by a wooden spoon, and Mrs. Weasley was setting some bread dough to knead itself. Molly watched Mrs. Weasley as she directed the kitchen as if it was an orchestra, her wand a conductor’s baton. She took a seat at the table and Mrs. Weasley turned at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor, and smiled to see Molly.

“Hello again, dear. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, thanks,” she told the older woman with a smile. Mrs. Weasley smiled back at her, but it was a sad smile. She knew Molly was worried.

“They’ll be back at any time, darling. No need to fret.”

She heard voices from the floor above, and footfalls on the stairs. Molly looked up to the doorway to see the Advance Guard, led by Tonks, who looked hungrily at the pot on the stove. The violet-haired witch smiled and waved at Molly, and Molly returned the gesture. Everything must have gotten off without a hitch, then.

“Went fine then, yeah?” she asked the girl.

“Oh, sure,” Tonks replied, snagging a roll from the table and nibbling on it.

“Now Tonks, dinner is after the meeting,” berated Mrs. Weasley with a grin as she walked back into the room and to the pot on the stove. Tonks started to apologize, but found it difficult with a mouth full of bread, prompting a giggle from Molly. More footsteps and she saw Remus, followed by Dumbledore. She hadn’t seen the white-bearded wizard since she arrived, and hadn’t known he was here tonight. Sherlock hadn’t mentioned him going with the Advance Guard. She supposed he was just the sort that popped up when you least expected him to.

Sherlock followed Dumbledore, and he was dressed in flowing robes like the rest of them, but his were a rich black material, reminiscent of his familiar suits. Molly had never seen him in anything but muggle clothing, and she gasped at the sight. He was fearsome and dashing, the very picture of a wizard. She found herself staring, and when she caught his eye Sherlock gave her a small smile and a nod. The others filed in, taking seats around the table with Dumbledore at the head. Remus lifted his head and saw Molly.

“Molly, we’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I’ll let you all to it, then.” She smiled at the group and began to walk toward the doorway.

“She should stay,” stated a soft baritone voice. She turned to stare at Sherlock, as had the rest of the group. “If she’s here, she should know what’s going on.” Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on Molly, as if he worried she would disappear if he removed his gaze.

“It’s alright, really. I was going to see if Toby is getting on with Crookshanks,” she told them, quickly making up an excuse as she headed to the door.

“He’s right. You should stay. Please,” Dumbledore said as he gestured to a chair at the other head. Molly nodded silently and took the seat offered, looking around the table timidly. She recognized most of the people seated, but for a few new faces. A few of them glanced surreptitiously toward her, and she tried her best to maintain proper posture. She didn’t want them to know she was nervous.

“Wonderful.” Dumbledore smiled at Molly with a twinkle in his eye. “Then we’ll begin.” Remus gave a full report of the mission to retrieve Harry Potter, and Molly listened carefully. She still wondered about her role in all of this. If she was to help the Order like she wanted to, she would have to figure it out. Not being a witch, she wondered what it was ordinary Molly Hooper could possibly do to help the cause.

It seemed that Harry had used magic to defend his cousin and himself, which was illegal for a boy his age, and would have a hearing before the Ministry of Magic. (While she understood this was definitely not a good thing, Molly was fascinated with the idea of a wizard courtroom, and wished she could see it for herself.) Arthur Weasley would accompany him, as he worked at the Ministry himself. Mrs. Weasley had told Molly that he worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and would likely be asking Molly quite a lot of questions about muggle life when he got the chance.

“I’m sure you’d be able to give me a hand, won’t you, dear?” Molly had drifted, thinking about the Ministry of Magic. She blushed and looked at Mrs. Weasley apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, miles away. Give you a hand with what?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her. “It’s alright dear, quite a lot to think about, I know. The children and I are going to get this place cleaned up, make it habitable again. No one’s lived here in years! I’m afraid it’s too risky for you to leave at the moment. You too, Sherlock, dear. Not right away again, anyway.”

“Of course, I’m happy to help!” Molly replied brightly. She looked at Sherlock, who wore an annoyed expression.

“You can’t make me stay here. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Of course you are, and you will take care of yourself here, at Grimmauld Place,” Mrs. Weasley replied, wearing her best mum expression. She made it clear that he was not too old to be scolded, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, keeping silent. Molly grinned as Sherlock pouted. He really was very much a child sometimes, used to getting his way. How often had she found herself receiving the silent treatment after telling him she did not have the time to play assistant in the lab?

“Accompanying us to collect Harry was a risk you should not have taken,” Remus said. “I should never have allowed it.”

“You forget who I am, Remus,” Sherlock snapped. “I’m good. I’m very good. When we were in school I saved your skin more times than I can count.”

“And it’s only fair that I return the favor, Sherlock. This isn’t a punishment,” he replied seriously. Remus watched him with a furrowed brow. Molly saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. “We want to keep you safe. You know they won’t stop coming for you. You know what he would make you do.”

He did know. Sherlock dropped his gaze and nodded silently in concession. Molly reached across the table to squeeze his hand, and he didn’t pull away. 

“Very well,” he muttered. He knew they meant to protect him, but he didn’t have to like it.

The meeting continued for a while, until finally they were finished with their business. After saying his goodbyes, Dumbledore stood to go, nodding politely to Molly. The Order members who were not staying for dinner left one by one. Mrs. Weasley returned to the stove, taking the beef stew off of the heat and the bread out of the oven. With a flick of her wand, she opened the kitchen door, and a pair of flesh colored strings could be seen in the doorway. Fuming, she marched over to them, picked them both up, and began shouting into them.

“NICE TRY, BOYS!” Molly could hear shrieks of pain from the other room, apparently reacting to the sound. Mrs. Weasley turned to Molly. “Fred and George invented these. For eavesdropping. The door was enchanted, though, nothing can get in.”

Molly grinned. “Amazing.”

“If only they would put so much effort into their studies,” replied Mrs. Weasley, though she was smiling, still proud of her boys. “The children should be down any moment, do be a dear and set the table?”

“Of course.” Molly stood from the table and got to it, working quickly and efficiently to set the table. Sherlock watched her curiously, having never seen Molly in such a domestic setting. She worked just as deftly and carefully with the dishes and flatware as she did with the bodies in the morgue. When she reached Sherlock, who had made no effort to move from the table, Molly placed the empty plate and silverware in front of him, giving him a light smile as she did so.

“Thank you,” she heard his low voice mutter. Her smile grew wider. She wasn’t used to such pleasantries from the detective.

“You’re welcome, Sherlock,” she replied, making sure he knew his effort had not gone unnoticed. She supposed he was doing his best to get along while here. Mrs. Weasley wasn’t the type to tolerate rudeness, whether it was meant or not, and he did seem grateful for everything they had done to help him. While he could be quite an idiot, she knew he could behave if he wanted to.

As Molly finished setting the table, the children filed in. Bringing up the rear was a teenage boy with dark hair and glasses. She smiled at the boy, and he gave her a polite smile in return.

She walked to him and extended a hand to him. “You’ll be Harry, then. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Molly Hooper.” The boy took her hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet you. So, you’re not a witch, then?” Harry asked her.

“No, I’m not,” she replied brightly. “I guess I got sort of—well, roped in to this whole business.” She turned to look at Sherlock with a smile on her face. He looked back at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Harry frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, casting his eyes downward.

“No!” she said quickly. “No, no, Harry. There’s nothing for you to apologize for.” Molly had had about enough of being apologized to for things beyond one’s control. Her eyes flicked to Sherlock, who was watching the two. 

She looked at the boy sadly for a moment, before—“Alright, Harry dear, you can have a seat here, there’s a good lad, tuck in!” Mrs. Weasley interrupted, gesturing for everyone to take their seats so they could begin dinner. Molly returned to the table, taking a seat between Sherlock and Tonks.

Dinner was much more relaxed than the meeting, the addition of the children quite welcome. Molly laughed along with them as Tonks tried different noses, and listened with rapt attention to stories about Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic, and Mr. Weasley told her all about his position in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. A few of the Weasley children rolled their eyes as they knew exactly what would be next.

“Molly, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but it isn’t very often we are graced with the presence of someone from the muggle world, Harry and Hermione excluded, of course.” He nodded to the pair, who seemed relieved that they were no longer his only source on all things muggle. “I’ve been hearing some things about the internet, and I must say, I am amazed! It hardly seems possible without magic!”

Molly smiled warmly at the excited man and replied, “Of course, Mr. Weasley, what would you like to know?”

Mr. Weasley listened with wide eyes while Molly told him about routers and wi-fi (she was a little embarrassed when she had to admit she had no idea why it was called that). Molly even thought she saw a tiny smile from Sherlock out of the corner of her eye as he watched her.

When Molly arrived at Grimmauld Place, she worried that she would be a stranger in this very strange land, but everyone she had met (barring the house elf, but he seemed a sour sort, anyway) had made her feel very much at ease. She was thankful for the warmth that she had received from the Weasley family, and it made being away from her life a little bit less frightening.

Molly glanced over at Sherlock to see him looking at her with a half smile on his face, his brow furrowed. When their eyes met, his darted away, causing her smile to grow even wider.


	8. A Lot You Don't Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a bit of fluff before things get going! :) I had a lot of fun with this chapter.

After weeks of scouring and scrubbing (more housework than Sherlock Holmes had done in his life), the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was finally more or less inhabitable. Molly and Sherlock had developed a routine, taking to sitting in the drawing room afternoons and reading, steaming cups of tea in hand. She had never known him to sit that still for any length of time, yet there he was, quietly reading a chemistry journal that Tonks had nicked from the letterbox of a King's College professor. He sat in the chair where he sat the first time he told her about Hogwarts, having claimed it as his own, except for the occasions when he was obliged to share it with Toby, which became quite often. Toby apparently felt a kinship with the consulting detective, and Molly wondered if he could sense Sherlock’s animagus.

Molly lounged on the sofa with a paperback novel that Mrs. Weasley had lent her, and longed for her own library at home. The book, a romance about a respectable witch who fell in love with a roguish warlock pirate, was filled with words and phrases she still didn’t understand. The story was riveting, however, and the romance itself was universal enough to result in pink cheeks and ears. 

“I didn’t have you pegged for that sort of girl,” said a low voice. Molly snapped out of her reverie and tilted her head to look at Sherlock, who was smirking at her. She flushed a deeper shade of crimson, but couldn’t help but give him a small grin back.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sherlock Holmes,” she shot back, and returned to her novel. His smirk grew into a wide smile. He seemed to like it when she challenged him.

“Increasingly so, it would seem,” he replied, eyeing her curiously. He rested his copy of _Today’s Chemistry Advances_ on his chest and watched her for a moment. “You had an owl from Mrs. Hudson today.”

“I did,” she said, without looking up.

“What did she say?”

“She’s well.” She paused before continuing, glancing up at Sherlock. “John’s returned to London.”

Sherlock stiffened. Neither had said his name in quite a while. There was an unspoken agreement between the two that they didn’t discuss their friends in the other world, though they each knew the other was itching for news.

“He went to see her?”

“No, one of Mycroft’s men told her. She was _hopping_ that she had to hear it from him.” Molly smiled as she thought of Mrs. Hudson and her fiery temper.

“He hasn’t gone to _see her_?” Sherlock had a reputation for being cold and unfeeling, but he would always have fire where Mrs. Hudson was concerned. He cared very much for her, and though he often acted like a petulant child when she fussed over him, he worried after her as if she was his second mother.

“I imagine he’s still having a hard time of it. Can’t go back, you know?” Sherlock nodded, a frown on his face. Molly sat up on the sofa, tucking her legs under her to one side. She watched him with a furrowed brow, as she marked her page before closing her book and placing it on the table next to her. “Come here.”

He looked at her, a confused expression crossing his face. Molly patted the seat next to her. Sherlock stood and crossed over to her, taking a seat on the sofa. He turned his head to look at her quizzically.

Molly smiled at him softly before she spoke again. “When—when I was a little girl, I had a best friend, called Pippa. She lived next door, and when we started school we had the same teacher. We did everything together, and we even had a secret fort in the wooded area behind the garden.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Sherlock. 

“When we were eleven, Pippa’s father got a job in Australia, and they had to move. The day they left I couldn’t stop crying, so my mum sat with me. It made me feel better, just being next to her. So after that, every time I was sad, or overwhelmed, she would sit on the sofa in our sitting room and I would sit with her.”

“Molly, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she told him, smiling sadly.

Sherlock looked as if he would speak, but decided against it. Instead, he turned his head away and leaned his body against her, resting his head on her hip and closing his eyes. Molly’s eyes widened at the familiarity of his actions, but relaxed, shifting slightly to become more comfortable. She reached for the side table and retrieved her book, unmarking the page and settling in to read once again. She paused, and then leaned over Sherlock, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. His brow furrowed for an instant, but relaxed as the faintest hint of a smile crossed his features.

_____

They stayed that way for the next few hours, and Molly was able to finish her book while Sherlock dozed. About an hour in, Toby, who had been chasing a yowling Crookshanks, jumped onto the sofa. Molly moved carefully to stop him, fearing he would wake the sleeping detective, but Sherlock didn’t budge. Toby settled onto his hip, settling down for a nap of his own. The large ginger cat looked almost as if he would join the group, but thought better of it, slinking away.

Molly knew that the children would be returning to school in a week, and she had to admit that she would miss them. Both Harry and Hermione had been raised in the muggle world, so she was able to talk to them about things from that world, and the Weasley children made her miss her own large family. A lump rose in her throat as she thought of her family, and wondered when she would see them again. She would have to ask if there was a way to get a letter to them, just so they wouldn’t worry.

After Molly finished reading, she stretched carefully to place the book back on the table, trying her best not to disturb Sherlock or Toby. Toby’s eyes snapped open with her slight movement, and he looked at her with a look not unlike the annoyed look Sherlock gives when he’s feeling especially surrounded by idiots. Toby sat up, and then decided to walk along Sherlock’s body to his head, where it was resting on Molly’s hip.

Molly closed her eyes in frustration before swatting at the impetuous feline who was moving to take a seat on the cushion of Sherlock’s curls. “Toby, no!” she hissed, but it was too late. Feeling the weight near his face, Sherlock’s eyes opened, surprised to see a mass of fur out of the corner of his eye. Molly rolled her eyes and seized the cat, who was having none of it. Finally, Toby wriggled free and found a spot in a chair across the room, where he eyed the pair angrily.

“Sorry about that. He’s as stubborn as some people I know.”

Sherlock looked at her with a grin. “Now, I hope you aren’t talking about me.”

“You’re two of a kind,” she replied, matching his grin with one of her own. His brow furrowed as he remembered where he was.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“For a good two and a half hours, at least. Finished my book and everything.”

“And did they live happily ever after?” he asked her, stifling a yawn.

“Of course they did. They successfully escaped the muggle navy, and the pirate asked the maiden to join in his adventures on the high seas.”

“Mmm,” he said, by way of reply. His eyes were closed again, and Molly thought he looked more relaxed than he had in a while. She imagined the scene must look rather domestic. Molly brushed the curls out of his face, which prompted him to nestle even closer against her. She experimentally ran her fingers through dark locks, and Sherlock smiled softly. She imagined if he were a cat he would be purring.

“Molly?” he said softly as she absentmindedly worked her fingers through his curls.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Molly’s brow furrowed as she looked down at him. “What for?”

He didn’t answer. She said his name, but he still didn’t say anything. His breaths became even and shallow. He had fallen asleep again. She smiled again, chuckling softly to herself. He had become comfortable, settling into uncharacteristic habit. She knew one day he would finally be bored, and once again finally want to leave, but he was kept busy, between keeping Mrs. Weasley happy and working on leads with Remus. 

It was strange, being so comfortable like this, with the man she had loved for so long but had never been able to be close to. Crises and new experiences threw people together, of course. Like a flock of birds, they stuck together for safety and some semblance of familiarity. Even Sherlock, who she had always seen as a lone wolf, occasionally required a pack. She was waiting, however, for the other shoe to drop. Things had been suspiciously quiet, given the circumstances. But rather than worry about what was to come, Molly counted her blessings, thankful for every quiet moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed this so far! I'm afraid I may have to be a while with the next chapter. I'm trying to relocate this summer, so I have to go into major job-hunt overdrive. Finding a job is terrible, finding a job in a city a thousand miles away is even harder, so wish me luck!! :)
> 
> If you feel like sending me nice messages or just want to stay updated, you can follow my tumblr: dj-jonathan-feinstein.tumblr.com :)


	9. Scientists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not at ALL expect to have this up so soon, but I had a slow afternoon at work yesterday (I work in a hospital in admissions, so I'm in front of a computer all day, and if no one comes into the ER on a Saturday, there's not much else to do). Anyway, I've sort of figured out where I want this to go (though I don't have as much planned as I probably should), and I'm feeling pretty good about it. Enjoy!!

A pale, long-limbed man in dark robes lifted a wand above his head and pointed it at Molly as tears streamed down her face. On the floor between them lay two bodies, one tall and pale with dark curls, the other shorter and stockier with sandy colored hair. She looked between the still forms of her friends and the man with the wand. She knew he wouldn’t kill them yet, not until they had watched him kill her. She was being held with an arm across her neck and a wand to her temple. Moriarty was waiting for John and Sherlock to wake up before he continued.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered, and almost immediately Moriarty took action.

“Crucio!” he whispered in Molly’s ear, and she immediately dropped to the ground, writhing in pain. Sherlock cried out, and the pale man turned his wand to him. Sherlock’s eyes turned vacant and his mouth went slack, and was forced to watch her without a word.

The pain became so great that Molly wished they would kill her. She screamed for them to let her die, until finally she felt large hands shake her awake.

Molly’s eyes snapped open. She was in her bed at Grimmauld Place, and the house was quiet. Sunlight streamed through her window, and there was the faint sound of birdsong. Sherlock was standing above her, his forehead lined with worry, and Molly could feel how wet her face was. She looked up at him, knowing she wore a horrified expression.

“Oh God, Sherlock! It was just a dream. It was a dream. Oh thank God,” she repeated over and over as she sat up and buried her face in his chest. Sherlock sat at the edge of her bed and held her as she sobbed.

“Molly, you were shouting for someone to kill you. Who was it?”

“It was—it was—” Molly took deep breaths, trying to collect herself so she could speak. “It was him. It was Moriarty. He—he did something to me. Some sort of spell. It hurt—oh Sherlock, the pain was incredible. And you were there, and the other man made you watch me. And John—John was there. He was unconscious.”

“John was there? What other man?”

“I’d never seen him. He was tall and pale, and his face—red eyes—it was almost—he looked like he wasn’t entirely human.” Molly shuddered. Sherlock watched her, knowing full well who it was she saw. Her eyes were still wet with tears, but she seemed to have calmed considerably. Regardless, he still held her as her heartbeat returned to normal.

“Wait—actually, I have seen him before,” she said softly, after a few moments. Sherlock let her go, moving to kneel next to the bed and face her, a serious look on his face.

“Where, Molly? Where have you seen this man?”

“I—I’ve dreamed about him. But it—it’s usually just flashes, quick images of his face or something. It started the night Moriarty came to Bart’s, before I came here. Usually I forget about it before I wake up.” Sherlock stared at her, looking properly frightened. Molly hadn’t seen him look like this since the night he told her he was going to die.

“Why did you never tell me about this?”

“I never thought it was important, they’re just dreams, aren’t they? Sherlock, what? Who is that man?”

“Molly, you’ve been dreaming about Voldemort.”

 ——

Molly sat at the breakfast table and picked at her porridge. Mrs. Weasley tutted with worry at her apparent loss of appetite, but Molly assured her that she was fine, and she was simply not hungry. Sherlock sat across the table from her with his eyes closed and his fingers steepled, apparently spending some time in his Mind Palace. Molly had gotten used to walking into rooms where Sherlock was doing this, at first unnerved by the silence, or thinking he was asleep. Now she, and the other inhabitants, knew to let him be, that he would return to them when he felt like it.

She wondered what it was he was going over in his mind. He had been like this since they came downstairs, Molly still shaken from her dream.

Molly had eaten all she was going to, despite Mrs. Weasley’s protests. She rose from the table, taking a pen from the pocket of her jumper, and digging around until she found a scrap of paper. She scribbled a note for Sherlock:

_What now?_

_I’ll be in the drawing room._

_-Molly_

She folded the note and carefully placed it next to his elbow, hoping he would notice it was there when he was finished. She thanked Mrs. Weasley for breakfast, and went out of the room. She passed Harry, Ron, and Hermione on their way to breakfast, and smiled at them in greeting before going into the drawing room. Toby was curled up on his and Sherlock’s chair, fast asleep. Molly scooped him up and held him, laying down on the sofa with the tabby still in her arms. She buried her face into his fur with a deep sigh.

“Oh Toby, what’s going to happen to us?”

Molly fell asleep, her arms curled around her cat. She dreamed again, but just quick flashes, like the ones before. A pale face with red eyes and slits for nostrils. A green light. Moriarty’s sinister, laughing face. Nothing as terrible as what she had seen the night before.

When she woke, she looked up to see Sherlock standing over her once more, as he had that morning.

“Were you dreaming?”

Molly sat up, and Toby scurried away. She leaned her back against a pillow and replied, “Yes. Not like last night, just images, really.”

“And you saw him.” Molly nodded soberly. “I’ve been going over every possible reason for you to dream about a man you’ve never seen before.”

“And they are?”

Sherlock took a seat across from her on the sofa and folded his legs beneath him. “First, there’s the possibility of it being merely a product of your subconscious. Seeing an image of a person, or even seeing someone on the street, and dreaming about them, even after forgetting what they looked like, is quite common. Though, _where_ you could have seen an image of Voldemort prior to your stay here is difficult to deduce. It’s highly unlikely that you would have.”

“So not a product of my subconscious, then?”

“I would say not. Next, there’s the possibility that the images could have been planted in your mind. An extremely skilled and experienced Legilimens—that’s someone who can read minds, I’m quite good at it, but I don’t prefer it, takes out all the fun— could do that, but usually they would need to have some sort of connection to the dreamer—”

“And given the fact that I’ve never seen him before—”

“Again, unlikely. Unless Moriaty was the Legilimens, which I doubt. I was able to access his thoughts quite easily. He clearly lacks the skill required.”

“So that’s two ruled out—what else is there?”

“Ah, and we reach my favorite. After all, once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Molly Hooper, have you ever made things happen that you couldn’t explain? Had visions? Your family, are there any of them you don’t know well, that others in your family have branded odd, or different?” He was eyeing her curiously, and she stared at him, her eyes wide as she considered what he said.

“Sherlock, what are you asking me?”

“Anything at all, dreams that came true, finding something the moment after you start to give up on looking—have you ever felt like Toby understood what you were saying?”

“Sherlock, I’m not a witch. Don’t you think I would have noticed by now?”

“Of course, but what if—“ Sherlock smiled widely. Oh yes, he had been bored for quite a while up to now. He’d been itching for a mystery but there had been one here the whole time – Molly Hooper. “What if somewhere, deep in your family’s history, are witches and wizards, but generations of squibs eventually forgot what you really were.”

“Squibs?”

“Born of magical families, but having no magic of their own. You might have had magic in you all along, but couldn’t have believed in it. Like you said months ago, you’re a scientist.” His expression was bordering on maniacal.

“Sherlock, this is insane.”

“What if bringing you into the magical world somehow opened you up to it? Knowing that it existed and it was possible was a catalyst to bring out the abilities that you were born with but never knew you had? You never got a letter from Hogwarts?”

“Of course not, because I’m not a witch. I don’t have magic.”

“And if your parents had simply ignored it, there would have been more letters. They are persistent, if nothing else. Perhaps your magic simply lay dormant until now. Never showing up on the Hogwarts list or anywhere else. Oh, this is quite curious. I never would have thought this was possible.”

“Are you listening to yourself? What you’re saying is impossible.”

“No, just a bit unlikely,” he replied. He clapped his hands together and jumped from his seat. “Oh, this is Christmas! I have to ask Dumbledore— this may be entirely unprecedented!”

“Sherlock, stop!” Molly stood in front of Sherlock, putting her hands on his arms to stop his movement. “Sherlock, we don’t know if this is true. We have to stop and think about this.”

Sherlock looked at Molly, his body still buzzing with excitement, grin still plastered across his face. He lowered it to a small smile, calming somewhat.

“You’re right. If we are to uncover the truth, we have to look at what we know, and test all of the variables.”

“Exactly. We’re scientists, remember?” She smiled up at the consulting detective. He returned her smile.

“Of course. Scientists.”

“Sherlock,” she began, looking down. A dismayed look crossed her face as she moved her hands from his arms. She put her arms around her own body, shivering a little as she thought of what may be.

“What is it?”

“If this is true—if I have some—some magic. Does that mean—does that mean my dreams—”

“They may come true.” He stood, brow furrowed, thousand yard stare in effect.

“Sherlock, how do we stop it? He—Moriarty—when he was at Bart’s—he said they would come after all of us. You, me, John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson.” She looked up at him with frightened eyes, and he returned his own to her. He stared at her for a moment before he answered.

“Molly, do you trust me?”

“With my life.” 

Sherlock closed the space between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I think it’s time to pay a visit to Mrs. Hudson.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I managed to both paraphrase ACD and quote the Doctor. :)


	10. Rarely So Lazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey nerds (a term of endearment from me)! Chapter ten! Wow! I'm nearly to 1000 hits on this story, which blows my friggin' mind. Should I do something special? Is that what people do? I'm still new to this side of fic. Anywhoo, enjoy!

Mrs. Weasley was concerned about Molly’s appetite. The once bright-eyed girl was becoming wan and lethargic, and she never finished her meals. What Molly did not want her or anyone else to know is that her sudden change in behavior was due to the fear and guilt she had been feeling since she and Sherlock decided that they had to leave Grimmauld Place, and that they couldn’t tell anyone.

Fear, because the dreams had been occurring with increased frequency, and had become more and more vivid. Replacing the flashes of images were elaborate scenarios in which each their friends were in mortal peril, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She saw the first dream the most often, and each time it ended in exactly the same way.

It wasn’t unusual anymore to wake up with Sherlock next to her, asleep atop the covers, occasionally an arm thrown across her. He had deduced early on that touch and closeness were calming to her, and he did his best to give her some comfort (he didn’t mind it as much as he once would have). A year ago she would have grown giddy at the thought of such intimate proximity, but the circumstances surrounding it took some of that away.

The guilt was because she knew that Mrs. Weasley and the others had worked so hard to take care of them and keep them safe, and they could be throwing that away. She didn’t know what lay in store for them the moment they left.

Molly opened her eyes that morning, as she had so many others, to see Sherlock staring into her tear-stained face. He wore a look of concern that she never would have thought she would see on his face as she recounted her dream to him. It was a familiar one by now, but one she couldn’t imagine coming true. They were in a castle, where a group of schoolchildren were being led into battle by Harry Potter and his friends, only they seemed older, both physically and emotionally. They had undergone a journey.

After Molly was finished telling Sherlock about her dream, he shifted closer to her, taking his long arms and drawing her closer to him. He pressed a tender kiss to her temple and held her as her body racked with sobs once more.

“Today is the day.”

Molly pulled away to look at him, her eyes wide. “Today? Are you sure?”

“Harry and the others are going back to Hogwarts today. They’ll be leaving for King’s Cross by noon, at the latest.”

“So we’re really doing this? We’re really leaving?” Molly chewed on her bottom lip while she waited for his answer.

“I can’t sit idly by, Molly. But if you don’t want to come, you can stay here. You’d be perfectly safe with the others.”

“I—I’ve seen John die every other night. I—we have to make sure that doesn’t happen. And I’m not letting you out of my sight, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a small smile as he looked at his pathologist. “Right then. You know the plan, then?”

———

Molly and Sherlock went down for breakfast as they usually did, doing their best to stay out of the way of the bustling group. Mrs. Weasley rushed around the house, frantically getting the children ready for the caravan to King’s Cross. The group finally left, (running quite late) and the two were left alone at Grimmauld Place.

Sherlock peered out the door at their friends, hot-footing it to the station. Molly stood behind, fiddling with the sleeve of her jumper. After ensuring they were far enough away, Sherlock hurried up the stairs to collect the bag they had packed. It was the suitcase he had taken the night he left Baker Street, and it was filled with several changes of clothes and basic toiletries. Molly had earlier learned that it was charmed, allowing it to hold much more than it would seem to (“It’s bigger on the inside!” she had exclaimed. “You’re a regular Mary Poppins.” Sherlock had rolled his eyes, but wore the faintest hint of a smile.).

When he returned, Molly was sitting on the floor, holding a purring Toby.

“I wish he could come with us,” she said softly.

“You know we don’t know how long we’ll be in one place. Toby wouldn’t be happy moving around so much.” Sherlock told her calmly.

“You’re right.” She ruffled the fur on top of the cat’s head, earning a disgruntled mrrow. “Bye, Toby. Mrs. Weasley will make sure you get fed. Stay away from Kreacher.” She placed a kiss on the top of his head, and stood.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Sherlock handed Molly the suitcase, and immediately transformed into his animagus form.

Toby eyed Sherlock-kitty warily before trotting over to sniff at him. Sherlock stood quietly, pointedly ignoring the other feline before swatting at Toby’s nose that got too close.

“Sherlock! No!” She bopped him on the nose, earning a wide-eyed glare from ice-eyed cat. She giggled when she realized who she had scolded in such a way. “Sorry, Sherlock. Habit,” she told him sheepishly.

Sherlock nodded toward Molly, and her face grew serious. “Right then. Shall we?” Suitcase in hand, Molly walked to the door. She paused, turning to look at the hallway behind her. With a heavy sigh she reached for the doorknob and opened the door, leaving the Black estate with Sherlock scurrying behind her.

——

Molly walked briskly down the busy London street, trying her best to blend in. No cabs, no way to know if a cabbie could be trusted. She was carrying Sherlock now so they wouldn’t be separated. Finally turning into Baker Street, Molly could see their destination. She picked up the pace, taking them quickly to the door of 221B.

When they reached the door, Molly knocked hurriedly. Sherlock jumped down to her feet and mewled at the door impatiently. Finally, Mrs. Hudson opened the door, staring at them with wide eyes. She hurried them inside and into her apartment.

Molly was last in, and when she was safely inside the apartment Sherlock was in his own form again. Mrs. Hudson locked her door, drew the curtains closed, and whirled around to face them, worry in her eyes.

“Sherlock Holmes, what are you doing here?” she hissed. “How could you put yourself in danger! And this sweet girl, too! You silly, silly boy!”

Sherlock dismissed her reprimand, instead plowing ahead and getting right to it.

“Mrs. Hudson, we need your help. Something has happened.”

“And the Order couldn’t help? Dears, what is it?” Mrs. Hudson looked from Molly, who was staring at the floor, to Sherlock, who was staring at Molly, a worried look on his face. “Molly, sweets, what’s the matter?”

“You—you read my tea leaves, right? So you know a little about—about –” Molly began, her voice shaky. It was real now, they were going to solve the case that was her horrific dreams.

“About divination,” Sherlock finished for her.

“Divination? Oh, darling, I know some bits and bobs, but nothing—”

“I’ve been dreaming about Voldemort. Nearly every night for weeks.”

“And you’ve never seen him?”

“Never.” Molly paused before she continued. “Mrs. Hudson—Sherlock thinks they may be prophetic dreams, magical, somehow. They’re always the same, or almost always. My friends—everyone—being killed. Or tortured. And I’m there. And there’s nothing I can do.” Molly collapsed onto Mrs. Hudson’s sofa, doing her best to control the tears she knew were coming.

“Sherlock, why do you think they’re prophecy?” asked Mrs. Hudson.

“Because I’ve been having them, too,” he softly replied. Molly’s head whipped up to stare at him. In the weeks the dreams had been coming more regularly, he had not once mentioned that he had been experiencing the same thing. Molly now understood why he had jumped on the idea of them being magical in nature.

“But—Sherlock, I mean—coincidence, isn’t it?” Molly offered half-heartedly, standing.

“The universe is rarely so lazy,” he muttered. He stared at the floor as the other two gaped at him, before making his way over to Molly. “Well, I’m sure you believe me, now. There is some magic there, however small, bubbling under the surface.” He put his hands on her small shoulders and looked her in the eye.

“Why—why didn’t you say anything?” His eyes darted away for a moment before he answered.

“I—I had hoped to have it all worked out before you needed to know.”

“Why?”

“You would think—you would think badly of me—if I couldn’t figure it out.”

Molly knew Sherlock Holmes never admitted to being unable to figure something out. And he _definitely_ never admitted to worrying what others thought. Molly fought back a small smile. For some reason he found himself caring what she would think of him, which she never would have thought possible two years ago. Of course, she also never would have imagined he would trust her so totally with his secrets and his life (and death). They had both changed, she supposed. He was more trusting, and more vulnerable. She was bolder, and possibly a little magical. _What an odd world we live in_ , she thought.

Molly put her hands over the large hands still resting on her shoulder. She removed them from her shoulder and took them in her own hands. She held his hands and watched him for a moment before speaking.

“I could never think badly of you for that. You may be a brilliant wizard-detective, but you’re still human. And this is not really the usual case for you.” She smiled at him. “But we’ll work it out.”

Sherlock returned her smile with a sad one of his own, a smile of gratitude (and something else?). He took her into a soft embrace and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you, Molly Hooper.” After a few moments, he turned to Mrs. Hudson, not letting Molly go. Mrs. Hudson smiled sadly at the pair. “Well, Mrs. Hudson, what do we do now?”

“We have to figure out how to use your dreams to our advantage. Start with the first one,” Mrs. Hudson said simply, taking a seat in an armchair and motioning for the others to do the same. Molly and Sherlock sat down on the sofa and Molly began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stuck for a while because I was worried about keeping the magic stuff within HP canon, but then I realized, screw that, this is my story. I can tailor the universe to my needs however I see fit. Blammo.
> 
> So I'm not as stuck anymore. Sweet freedom.


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